


You're My Best Friend

by le_singe_est_sur_la_branche



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: End of the Game, F/M, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_singe_est_sur_la_branche/pseuds/le_singe_est_sur_la_branche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric makes a living watching the Champion. He doesn't know when he started to love his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at the end of the game. If only Varric was a romance option!

Varric makes a living watching the Champion. That's his job. He travels with Hawke, he takes in her regal face, her smirks and laughs, her cut-throat business dealings and the way the sun shines on the steel of her blade. That's a good half of it, the half he likes. But there are days when he watches her fall apart, slowly, days when she can't hide the darkness under all that shine, the ghosts behind all that power. There are days when the deaths of those around her weigh her down, pull her in to the pits of the Fade with their grabby hands, claws ripping at her armor like the leather was slathered butter. And he watches this, too. He watches, and he aches. He doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't know how to make it better, how to help her stand, how to protect her from foes he can't see. The only sights he's had of them are the shadows in her eyes. There's Death, but he hangs around all their companions, lurking in the dark corners, waiting, sharpening his blades for that day when Anders isn't fast enough, the potion just doesn't do the trick, the blood just won't stop. Maker knows that's been happening more and more lately.

  
Varric makes a living watching the Champion. He doesn't know when he started to love his job. He doesn't know when Bree's soft smile made his chest hurt, or the color of her hair in the sun was drawing out poetry from his lungs. He can't tell you the first time he had a dream about being between her thighs, kissing the smooth skin of her legs, the ceases of her hips. If you asked, he couldn't tell you when he started to think of her as Bree and not as Hawke. He doesn't know when he started worry about her getting home alright after a long night at the Hanged Man, or if she'd heal up properly under the care of Ander's bloody hands. He just doesn't know when. It was sometime, but he couldn't place a date, couldn't gander a month, point out a specific moment when he thought 'Maker, she's beautiful laughing like that' with her hair warm brown in the firelight of his hearth, ale in her hand, the pink flush on her cheeks going well with the pearlish sheen on her lips.

  
But he does worry about her, that much is true. Every stubbed toe, every achy joint, every cut, slash, bruise, broken bone. He smirks at her jokes, laughs at her complaints, jibs her lightly at her clumsiness  But when she isn't looking he searches for assurance, he watches her walk off the limps, shake out the pain, laugh off the blood. And he worries. He wants to soak her in water, cover in her oil, rub out all the kinks, stroke her skin till she sighs with relief, kiss her scars till they don't have any bad memories. He wants to hold her when the nightmares come, wants to talk her down from the cliffs in her mind, wants to make love to her till she can only remember his skin, his touch, his name. He wants to chase away all the shadows and he wants to shine for her because she shines for him even in his darkest moments. He falls in love with her too quickly, or perhaps too slowly and he just realizes it at the end, but just the same, he wants, and he worries, and he wants even more.

  
"You're my best friend." Varric watches her and she watches him, standing there on the pier. Kirkwall blazes behind them. They're coming for her, for them all, but mainly her. Varric worries, and Varric wants, but right now, he just needs. He needs her to be safe, to be gone, to be happy, to stop crying. Please, something stop her from crying. "You're my best friend, Varric." She tells him, soft and honest as people die around them, as the fire burns and the city keens in it's agony.

  
"Don't cry, Hawke. We'll see each other soon." He promises, oh, by the Stone, he'll promise anything to make her happy. She smiles around her achy teeth, threw her watery tears. There are new shadows in her eyes.

  
"Everyone in my life has either left me or let me leave them. But you, you were always there. You never judged me. You never laughed at my stupid fears. You never scolded me for having childish dreams. You were there whenever I needed you and you're my best friend."

  
"And you're mine, Hawke." He takes her hand. It's shaking. Carver is in that city somewhere, fighting with the Templars. Merrill is that city somewhere, trying to rescue elves. Anders is in that city somewhere, trying to rescue mages. Aveline is in that city somewhere, trying to rescue the innocent. Fenris is in that city somewhere, fighting for his morals. Sebastian is in that city somewhere, doing the same. Isabella waits behind them in the boat, and they stand here, Breiley Hawke crying to him like a gentle wave, clutching his hand like a child. By all the gods out there, he loves her too much.

  
"You were there when I needed a guide, when my brother left me for the Templars, when my mother hated me for letting him leave. You listened to my complaints when I needed an ear, and bought me ale when I needed to forget everything."

  
"You always returned the favor." He feels like the world is ending. "It'll be back that way, soon, Hawke. Maybe not here, maybe not in this place, but somewhere." He assures and she looks at him like she believes him. He wants to believe himself, too.

  
"I couldn't kill him. I couldn't side with either of them. I love them all too much." She admits to him, quiet and simple. He nods in understanding. He knows this all too well. "Just like Carver, just like my mother. I love them all too much." He nods again.

  
"I know, Hawke. I know. You need to go so you don't get caught." Varric doesn't like the way his voice sounds anymore. It sounds like he's begging her. The sounds are getting closer, just too close. He needs her to be safe. She sniffles, looks behind him, takes in the city. Her shoulders stiffen, her body tenses and she pulls herself up for a brief second. She pulls on her control like a second armor, tight and protective. Then she looks at him, and her eyes soften just so, her lips part in a quiet sigh, and his body aches in a way he hasn't felt in years.

  
"This is horrible timing. I didn't plan this out the right way, Varric. I didn't want this to happen like this." She insists, and he thinks she's talking about the city, about the oncoming war. But she isn't. She's leaning forward, so close, so warm, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. He hoped, and he broke, staring at her. She stared back. Her lips twitch up and then he's gripping her hair, kissing her with all he can, trying to tell her with out words all his worries, all his wants, all his needs, all his time spent loving her. She returns the favor, clutching at his shirt, making a soft little noise of pleasure when their tongues finally meet. It feels like forever before they part, like he's already spent years memorizing her mouth and there's only familiar territory in the warm cavern. It's mere minutes, not long enough to satisfy. It's just a tease, and he bites back a groan. "You're my best friend. I love you most of all." She confesses. He wants to kiss her again. He wants to take her in his arms and strip her bare. He wants to kiss all her skin, taste every part of her, and then he wants to rock inside her till he can't remember a moment he wasn't with her, making her make those soft, pleasure-filled noises. She looks just as desperate.

  
"I love you most of all, too." He answers, his voice hoarse and her eyes widen. The shadows flee and he can hear the darkness skitter in her mind, if only for a few short moments. She kisses him again, and he wishes it could last forever. He prays, but he knows it will do know good. "I'll find you." He promises when they part, and her eyes water again. "I'll find you."

  
"And I you." She promises back, and they linger a moment. It's a moment they don't have, but Varric still finds it well spent. She looks torn, but determined, and she hopping in to the small dingy, and Isabella hands her an oar. She glances back at Varric, and he stays there, Bionca in his hand, watching her as she watches him. He stays there till she's gone. He lingers till he can no longer hear the gentle splash of the oars dipping under water, or the waves hitting the boat sides. He waits till he feels like he can no longer. Then he turns and he heads back in to the chaos of the city.

  
Varric is somewhere in the city, fighting for the woman he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked, post a comment! If you hated it, post a comment! If you find any mistakes, let me know!


End file.
